You're talking about a man and woman as friends? Sorry, that doesn't have a place in our society.

 Caution: Anger, frustration and possibly, bad writing skills ahead.

Sounds absurd, right?
I have better words: Preposterous, Stupid, Uneducated, Careless and frankly, anyone who says this should be thrown in the middle of the road, should be run over and a new road should be built over them.

India has it's fair share of misconceptions, myths and beliefs. Today is the day I choose to tear it apart.
Three years ago, on 16th December, Jyoti Singh was gang-raped by 6 men in a private bus, when she was returning home after watching a movie with her male friend. I say "male" here, quite carefully might I add, because the uncultured, idiotic and chauvinist pigs out there might just pounce on me if I said "boy-friend" or "boyfriend".

Here's what happened. It was 8.30 or 9 pm, and the girl was brutally raped, over and over again while the bus was driving around in circles across Delhi highways,. Her friend? That poor boy was beaten up so bad that he couldn't even open his eyes.

After probably hours of driving around, and hours of beating, biting and brutality, one of the men decided to raise the stakes, by inserting a rod into her. After the brutal incident, they dropped her and her friend's naked bodies onto the side of a road. It was atleast an hour before these two were spotted.

What followed this was massive uproar. Protests, violence and pleas echoed of the country, and it seemed like we were fearless. Nobody deserved this, and we were going to fight for it.

It's been two years now. Jyoti passed away on December 29th. Four of the accused have been given the death penalty. The minor involved in the incident is to be released in December next year, and the other accused committed suicide in March 2012.

The recent documentary released by the BBC has been banned from broadcast in India. Whoever you are, wherever you're from, if you're reading I urge you to go watch it. The government might have its reasons, and whatever it is, we don't approve. People need to know about this. The atrocities, the statements by the rapists and their lawyers, the pain of the parents.

Jyoti deserves it.

Here it is


Here is what I'd like to tell all those people who say  "She asked for it", "What was she doing out so late?"

ASK YOUR BOYS TO LOOK AT US THE SAME WAY THEY LOOK AT THEMSELVES.YES, WE HAVE LONGER HAIR, BREASTS AND A VAGINA. HOW DOES THAT MATTER?

I WEAR WHAT I WANT WHEN I WANT TO. I UNDERSTAND THAT THE WORLD IS A BAD PLACE, BUT IF ONE MORE PERSON TELLS ME THAT IT WAS A GIRL'S CLOTHING THAT ASKS FOR HER TO BE RAPED, I WILL TELL YOU THIS: I HAVE EVERY RIGHT TO CHOP A MAN'S TESTICLES OFF BECAUSE HIS SKINNY JEANS WERE TOO TIGHT.

WE HAVE URGES TOO, DO YOU SEE US TRYING TO "STEAL THE DIAMOND FROM THE OPEN, LIKE A DOG"?

RAPE IS NOT YOUR FAULT. NOONE SHOULD ENDURE THIS, PLEASE STEP UP AND SPEAK OUT,

It's actually high time.

"We don't read & write poetry because it's cute. We read & write poetry because we are members of the human race   And the human race is filled with passion."

                                                                                                

Credits to the owner.

So, I lapsed. For over seven months, I found myself oscillating between sharing and secrecy. What's a blog entry supposed to be? "My thoughts", was the first answer that came to my head. Naturally, the internet seemed to disagree, and while going through a lot of other blogs, I wondered if I was good enough.

After a long list of private diary entries, poems, rants and mental dystopia (as I'd like to call it), I realized the real question is "Good enough for what, good enough for whom?"

So, here's a poem I wrote on September 28th, to Neil Perry,one of the lead characters in the movie "Dead Poets Society".

To those who haven't had the chance to watch the movie, please do. It might just change your world.

 To Neil,

It wasn't as though the world was against you,
It wasn't that the chains were choking you,

You were breath-taking on the dais,
It made you look like the mightiest person.

Your ideas surround me,
As each day passes.

The very plethora
Of your being.

In the end,
Here is a note.

That someday
I hope will reach you.

For you are beautiful 
As you are.

For you are perfect
As you are.

Perhaps the past tense 
is best suited here.
And queer as it seems,
the lines in this poem don't 
even follow a scheme.

Each syllable fails to make sense.
"What is a poem, then?"
The critics will argue.
"This is a jibe to great poets"
They will say.

But what is poetry, Neil?
if it is not a reflection of me?

What will this poem mean,
if I do not make it out to you?

We count the words each day.
We judge by voice, diction and what not.

We fail to follow our dreams,
simply because we conform.

You didn't conform, Neil.
And you came at a time where I 
I, might have buckled in.

Todd isn't doing so well,
Neither were Charlie or Knox.

 Where there were a hundred,
 I saw you.
 I can speak to you.

And where you are now,
You can truly be you. 

Thank you all once again, for visiting my page.

MUST WRITE.MUST WRITE.MUST WRITE.

Writing should be a ritual, a famous author says. Otherwise, you can't live to tell finish your tale.

Oh, who am I kidding? No author said that. That's my limiting belief., right there.
My impending, yet delusional belief that I have another fifty years or so, to live. Fifty years is enough to write a write a 300 page novel right?

"I wouldn't be lying if I said I couldn't relate."
Credits to the owner

Meet my worst enemy, he's called Procrastination, and he's also my best friend. Here I am, with a dozen ideas blurring through my head as I take the bus to college, when I'm writing an exam and even when I'm the world's most jobless person.

Yet I don't pick up a sheet of paper and a pen, actually write them down. Here's the conversation that goes on, between me and well, um, me.

"Oh my god, what if he did that, and the story starts with a young girl who sells flowers everyday?Or, ohhhhhh, the story could have a minimalist poster theme! I should start writing it."

THE OTHER ME:

"Yeaaaaaaaaaaaahh, the sofa seems pretty comfy right now, and what if , when you get back with the pen and paper, the cushions move ahead? Maybe, you should have a concrete theme before you start writing. Oh, Oh, I have a better one. You should read more before you ACTUALLY start writing."

(But wait, here's the best one)

"The mood doesn't seem right, I think you need to wait for the right setting,so that the story will come to you."

-----------------------------------------End of Conversation----------------------------------------------

So, as you might have guessed, I'm having a small problem. Regardless, I thought I'd move my behind and atleast rant on something than lying on my bed, sulking about how my story hasn't "come" to me yet.

(Sometimes, I want to slap myself, honestly.)

So, I went on the best thing ever invented, and key-ed in my search, and I got this book :The Five-Minute Writer by Margaret Geraghty, and it has successfully helped me write, three days in a row.

The book in itself is conversational and has a lot of quirky exercises which aren't too uptight and clichéd.

For instance, the first exercise asks you to write about a ritual, anything that you follow strictly, in your daily life and the author explains the exercise in less than a hundred words.However, the chapter in itself is around 8 pages long, and oozes just the right amount of inspiration to get those gears going.

Here was my first piece on "Rituals":

The passage to a perfect day

It’s the usual groaning every morning for me, when I feel the harsh streaks of sunlight interrupt the surreal scene where I’m embraced by a handsome man. Perfect timing, right?

Once my faced is laced with the blinding light, it’s bye-bye to bliss. Grudgingly, I wake up to madness, where there is chaos, yelling and cat fights (literally). There’s one solution to this, something that has always been with me, something that I can never get rid of, even if I’m late to college or an appointment by an hour.

Waking up to my earphones and my phone next to me, I wake up deciding what song to listen to. Slipping my earphones in, I continue to do everything else- brushing my teeth, grabbing a cup of coffee, and even during exams, studying comes after music.

I like the escape, the ethereal scenes that run by my eyes, which beautifully accompanies the music that revolves inside me. My day starts with revelations about people, things, concepts and maybe even the world. Music and words are the answer, and this gets me through the day. Every day.

                                                           ------------------------------------

Now, before you walk away,there's reason to this rant. Every time I meet someone who loves to write, something inside me catches flame.It dawns on me that I don't necessarily write all the time. Does that mean I don't truly love to write? That I can't be a good author?

But I love the way words speak when actions can't. It mesmerizes me how in a few hours I can be a protagonist, share their fears and even have the same nightmares they have. It fascinates me how I can be there, and back, and how I complete lose sense and meaning to my life when I close the hard-bound cover.

Words move me,wait. Let me rephrase that- Stories move me and I can't exactly explain how that makes me feel. 

I'll leave with this,though and one inspiring man said this : " If my goal is way up there, and I dance for atleast 10,000 hours, I'll reach the bottom of the mountain."

And this is just the start.

Inspiration, they say is like a storm, it can strike you anytime.

And, from a person who hasn't seen an ounce of what might just be the "I" of inspiration, I started being complacent.

Days went by, and before I knew,it it was a year already, and still no inspiration.

Maybe it was because I was looking to hard, but who am I kidding, I hardly did anything more than eating, sleeping and watching videos.

K-pop videos, to be more specific, and what was worse was the ultimate sense of hopelessness where I looked at those talented male idols and even decided that I might just go to Korea, and work for one of those ginormous entertainment companies.Well, it still doesn't seem like a bad job, except that I'd have to get knocked on the head, since I would probably just fall down drunk somewhere, ten years later after having a (or probably more) mental breakdown(s).

I really need to stop rambling.

On a really busy Tuesday night, my teacher called me to tell me about this Scottish exchange program for Journalism students under or who are 18.We had to write a piece on "Who is your inspiration?", and then submit it, following which two students from all over the country will be taken to Scotland for a Journalism Training Workshop.And the deadline was on Wednesday, at 10 AM.

First thought in my head?

"I don't even like Journalism. But, it's Europe, and it's for two weeks. I'll take it."

I came back home, and sat in front of a newly-opened word document with these words on top:

WHO MAKES ME STRIVE TO ACHIEVE?

It isn't exaggeration when I say I was sitting mum and blank for almost an hour, swirling the crevices in my brain, looking for one person that was my role-model or motivated me.

Maybe you realize that your dreams are just yours.
Courtesy: picturequotes.com

Now, this isn't me saying my parents, family and friends are horrible,not at all, they're amazing (And if you're reading this, good for me.). There have been dozens of celebrities I've drooled over, fantasized about and also, literally, dreamed of marrying, but that's not the point.If I took an average from this list, the selection committee would probably walk away because of how superficial I am, and so my next guess was authors and characters from books.Not that I don't have favorite characters, but Hannibal Lecter, Will Graham aren't really "Inspiration'.

I thought of my favorite authors, entrepreneurs, singers and finally gave up, I couldn't find one person that I could confidently point at and say "You,Right there, I'm doing this because of you".

And that's when it all made sense.I shouldn't need that,A person I constantly look upto and say "Why?How?What?" and lead my life like that.I can't be another person, I can appreciate them, congratulate them and even love them, but I just can't draw a parallel.There are too many things I want to see, and do, and be, and it's just not in one person or thing.

And I realized that was kind of, denial, maybe?

And this sort of haunted me the next few days, and I didn't turn the essay in.I didn't have anything to write about, and what's writing but a reflection of your belief atleast in part?

I asked around, looked around and a lot of people have role-models, and most of them are actually set on becoming like them.

That made me ask if people looked onto role models to become something they dream of?That's it, right there.

The word Dream.

So what does not having a role-model mean?No dreams?Nothing to look forward to?Or is it, that no one's moved me that much, and does this make me crabby and self-absorbed?

Or is it, that you don't need one for people to relate to what you see, believe and want to do?

Resurrection

It was dreary, the  last couple of months.I couldn't focus, or write or even know who I am anymore.
I know, this sounds extremely dramatic and honestly, it was.I thought I'd lost sense of who I was, after being around for 18 years.
I went to college late everyday, not by ten or fifteen minutes, it was often after three classes.And the killing part was that I got full-day attendance.
It was a comfortable place to be in, the fact that I could stay up all night , watching TV shows and thinking and reading about a horizon of things.
And nothing of consequence, really.
Work slipped, and I didn't feel motivated anymore.Forget motivation, I didn't even feel like waking up anymore, and I'm probably like a rabbit on drugs in the morning.
So, in a nut-shell, I was ready to plunge into the pool of a lot of people having "the phase" of deep disinterest and all I did was ramble and complain about how my life should have been.

The last three days, I've had a wake-up call.
An extremely great one at that, like a five-year old kid throwing ice-cream on your face.

All that I can say, is that: 
                                          I'm back,and I'm writing for good.

The next post will be up later today, and I feel alive already.

Credits to all the owners
of the pictures.I do not own them,

It's been a while, and for all those who think that this person is just another random college student who was bored, and didn't bother to continuously write, I am just that.
Sigh.
Moving on, my last post was about Confession Pages and this one is too, and I wrote this for an assignment, It's l01 on Confession Pages and a few funny confessions.

Disclaimer:CREDITS TO THE VARIOUS CONFESSION PAGES FOR THE CONFESSIONS, I DO NOT OWN THE CONFESSIONS.

#2.The confessions are not for mockery, please do take this post with a light heart.

Confessions, Confessions everywhere

Get on a social-networking website, or better yet, just Facebook and type the name of any educational institution, followed by the word “confession” and it is guaranteed that a page will open up, with a generic hash tag followed by what this generation of college and school students call “venting” out and “solving” problems.

Confession pages grew in numbers after Indian teenagers and college-goers were exposed to the concept of anonymous gossip posts, much like what is seen on TV teen dramas today (such as Gossip Girl and Pretty Little Liars), and they’re only growing in number.

What is even funnier is the fact that confession pages by area and by landmarks have been started, like the ‘Elliot’s Beach Confession’ page and there is, in fact, an ‘All India Confessions and Complaints’ page. And just when you thought people cannot get any more jobless, there is even a TamBrahm and Iyer/Iyengar Confession page.

The 101 of Confession pages is simple: Anonymity is sacrosanct. There is usually a Google document where one types out basic details, along with his/her confession and the confessions are reposted under the name of the page itself. So, neither the page admin nor the readers ever find out the identity of the ‘confessor,’ but when it is uploaded, speculation runs through everyone’s veins. Anybody can start a confession page. From what administrators say, these pages provide them hours of entertainment and it is not even that much work.

While scrolling down a dozen (maybe more) confession pages, we present to youthe quirkiest, yet hilariously entertaining world of confessions (Yes, we like to spread joy and laughter):

Disclaimer: We own none of the confessions, and so the style, spelling and grammar have not been tampered with.

Confession 1:

#597

 After reading so much of confessions i too decided to confess something.. Here is my confession. How i murdered him. I don't know what made me to murder him. He tortured me a lot, he irritated me alot. But watever it was, i was bearing all the pains and letting it go. But that day i couldn't resist myself. I was very angry on him, he was not allowing me to do my personal work. I tried a lot to ignore him but couldn't ignore. I tried to make him stay away from me but all in vain. . That night was really a horrible night, i still remember it exactly. I told him lot of times to go away from me but he wasn't listening. For him, i was the only one person on earth to irritate and torture. I couldn't control myself and killed him. Still there are blood stains on my hand. I tried a lot to overcome but i still have a feeling of regret. RIP that poor MOSQUITO.

 Admin1: Hope I RIP.

Confession 2:

#586

I once chatted(in tagged) wit australian gal who said she is a witch.

 I asked her to do me a trick.She said u should come to me for that.So i told "ha ha thats a safe reply...u see my profile?Do something with it "

finally i ended up getting my name changed as 'i do belive in witches' and i was not able to change it ever after

Admin B : witches are naturally nosy.

We found confessions that even enlightened us about things we never knew!

Confession 3:

#50 Why Silk Clothes are preferred for doing Pooja ??

 Silk clothes have the capacity to attract and store electro magnetic energy. With the friction between the body and the silk clothes, electric energy is produced, which gives rise to electro static attraction.
This energy, according to shastras, would act on the mind of the devotee. It is also said that the vibrations, which are generated while worshipping, are also stored by wearing the silk clothes.

Confession 4:

#49 Toran (festoon) - the science behind it :

Decorating the main door of the houses, temples or any other place, where some ritual is performed, with a Toran (Toranam, festoon or a string of mango leaves) is part of the Indian culture. Normally, this kind of decoration is done during festivals or celebrations.
Indians use a Toran (festoon) made of fresh and green mango leaves. However, leaves of other species like Neem are also used for this purpose. Most of us know that the green leaves absorb carbon dioxide and release oxygen. This helps in keeping the surrounding atmosphere clean and hygienic.  In addition, insects get attracted to the green leaves. This stops the insects from entering the room.

Then, there were typical teenager posts about unrequited love, about their miserable lives, break-ups and affairs, how one is dying for the attention of an extremely attractive member of the opposite sex. What is funny about the next confession is that the relationship started off as a confession on a page. Now this is the one deep, dark pit that society should never head into.

Read on, and readers, having popcorn is not advised. It might just be spit out.

 Just when we thought we could not get enough, we see what 14-year-old school children do at a confession page:

Confession 5:

I’m 14 year old boy and sincerely in love with my sister’s friend ..avaluku 11 years agarthu…ava semmaya irrupa pakarthuku..semma cute!! Enga aathuku daily varuva..both that girl and my sister play hide and seek enga aathu keezha!! Sogam part is, antha ponnu enna Anna Anna nu koopduvaal :’(…ennaku adhu kekambothu laam manasu odanju pogum L I love her truly and madly :’( .. Admins and mamis..neenga rendum perum thaaan enga rendum perayum sethu vekkanum L …enga love success aairthu na definitely you’ll be the first people to get our marriage invitation!! Please help pannungo ..ongluku puniyama pogum…!! 

This confession drew the ire of commenters who took the opportunity to “tell off” the young teen for ‘falling in love’ at his age, before calling curses down on his language.

                                                                                           

Confession pages:Are they justified?

For my first official post, I had a lot of Ideas, whether I should do a post on Kpop,or serial killers, fashion or another "Me" post.
I was typing out this post, and I had facebook open, when a notification popped up.
"XYZ has invited you to like an ABC Confession page."
After sitcoms like Gossip Girl and Pretty Little Liars, I guess confession pages are the new "thing".
Personally I find them revolting.Sure, I understand that it's a "forum for venting whatever the hell anyone wants to vent."
But it isn't justified to post nasty , dirty and obscene things about people just because one cannot say it to their face.
For example;  say I don't like a girl in my class-She's rude and in short,the spawn of Satan, wearing revealing clothes that I when I see I want to gauge my eyes out.
I don't go and post something on a confession page just because she's being herself.If she's happy doing so, why I should I be concerned?If I really cared,I would probably talk to her on the phone, or send a freaking text, or even better,keep my opinion to myself.
Posting on the confession page,is not only a tad bit cowardly, it's mean, and doesn't solve anything.

After this rant, for those who are still interested, here's a short poem, I wrote:

                               CONFESSIONS.

All sounds are but noises,

All sights are but ghor.

All smells are pungent,

and taste, what taste?

In this world, where lighting a cigar gets you worshipped,

Stripping in front of cameras makes one "holy"

and books, and emotions are only left to those who are "weak".

Cameras are endlessly, tirelessly used for self snaps,

to announce to the world that an act is done,

Confessions are posted, and endless attempts to be accepted, continue to be tested by many.

Are they a cry for attention?Attempts to be noticed?

A liaison for “speaking out”?A medium for the oppressed?

The coin flips,”You’re a coward” are the comments,

In this “free” world, opinions are meant to be expressed,

But as a confession on a Facebook page?

You say you’re trying to be a “better person”

That confessions are a way to tell people their flaws,

So you all delude yourself, says the victims.

But think again.

What happens if it’s all a conspiracy?

What if you’re all unmasked?

Not so nice,huh?

Next time you see yourself or a friend trying to post a confession, think to yourself
"Isn't this just adding fuel to the fire?"

Hope you all liked it,Annyeong till the next post!
Comments and criticism is much appreciated.